


Green Grapes

by Hildigunnur



Category: Project Runway (US) RPF
Genre: M/M, Road Trip, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:23:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hildigunnur/pseuds/Hildigunnur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>White wine, a suite at the Ritz and Daniel Vosovic. Tim Gunn planned to encounter only one of those things in France.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Grapes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mosca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mosca/gifts).



> Enormous thanks to my lovely beta. All remaining errors are mine.

It was only eight in the morning and Tim was already feeling murderous. In fact, he was so cranky that if he'd be presented with a _'destroy the universe'_ button at the moment, he would most certainly have pressed it. Mostly he wanted to choke his personal assistant but if the destruction of the world would be the price to pay to make that happen, he would have happily paid it.

Despite all that one couldn't have seen the murderous rage looking at him; in his pressed and well-cut suit, sitting at his desk and drinking his bottled water from a glass like all well-bred people did when they were not at the gym or out jogging.

The reason Tim was so eager to dole out his assistant's death sentence had to do with the spread-sheet-like document which contained all his appointments and which, at the moment, looked like a box of Crayolas had puked on it. There was not a single white patch to be seen on it for the next three weeks, except between eleven at night and eight in the morning. What got Tim's goat was that most of these appointments seemed to be magazine interviews and meetings with producers who wanted him in their version of reality hell which they titled "Pimp Me Up, Dress Me Down" or some other nonsense. His roaster of involvement with reality TV was quite full, thank you. In between interviews with US Weekly and Esquire, there were a few meetings with the people he actually worked with.

He called Stella, the PA, into the office. She seemed to have noticed the fact that he was in less than favorable mood and looked up at him from beneath her bangs like she a was six year old school girl who had accidentally broken her friend's sparkly pink pencil. Relaxing his eyebrows, Tim tried to smile fatherly at her while he asked her to cancel all the interviews with all the magazine journalists and the reality TV producers and to see if it was possible to reschedule his meetings with the Project Runway team and the Liz Clairborne people.

"You see, Stella. I think I need to get away before… well, I need to get away. When you've rescheduled the appointments, it would be great if you could arrange a flight to Paris tomorrow or the day after, a rental car for a couple of weeks - preferably a BMW - and book a hotel for the first two nights in Paris. I think I'm going out to get a latte. Anything I can bring you?"

Stella only blinked and nodded her head before hurrying out of the office without a word.

Oh well. She'd probably appreciate a latte of her own and maybe a poppy-seed muffin.

+++

A couple of days later, while standing in a suite furnished with what must have been at least half the rococo furniture in Paris, Tim thought about Stella and wondered whether she had been that grateful for the muffin or if she truly was an evil mastermind.

Normally when Tim visited Paris, he stayed at a nice little boutique hotel, or maybe at the Radisson on Champs Elysées. Sure, he'd been to the Ritz for a shindig or two but he'd never been inside one of their suites and now he was supposed to stay here for the next two days.

Scratching his chin he wondered how on earth Stella had managed to book the suite on such a short notice. It was doubtful that a lowly PA working at Liz Clairborne had connections to book a suite at the Ritz in Paris - but what did he know? Tim had long ago learned that making assumptions about people usually only made an ass out of him.

He had intended the stay in Paris to be for rest and to get over any jetlag but he felt utterly restless in the huge canopied bed, which was so huge that it could have doubled as a football field. Or a soccer field, which was apparently what they preferred in Europe.

Since sleep didn't seem to be able to find him in that bed, he got up and gave up on his afternoon nap. The Parisian sky seemed overcast but Tim didn't let that stop him from heading out. So the suite freaked him out a bit, who could blame him?

He'd been around Paris enough to avoid the largest tourist traps and he'd grown accustomed enough to have a favorite café. He even had a favorite table there. Unfortunately, at the time of his arrival it was occupied and the only free tables were those lining the sidewalk outside. He usually preferred to be inside as he wasn't much of a sun worshipper but thanks to the clouds above, he'd be free of any impending headaches.

Sitting with his café crème he almost felt relaxed, instead of harassed like he'd been feeling for what felt like forever.

Still, Paris was a bustling metropolis and it had never been his plan to spend this impromptu holiday in Paris alone; there was a reason he wanted that rental car: the Loire Valley. While the people he usually mingled with all seemed to be the greatest experts on red wine, few knew anything about white wine, other than to order a chilled Chardonnay with seafood. Tim, on the other hand, had a long-standing love affair with white wine, so driving up and down the Loire Valley, staying at country hotels and inns and soaking in white wine was pretty much his idea of the perfect vacation.

Hell, he didn't need the sleep, he was heading south tomorrow.

Getting up after having paid the tab, he turned quickly - and collided with a passerby who appeared to be in a great hurry.

"Sorry! I mean… Pardon!"

The person rushed to apologize as Tim dusted off his jacket, but he hadn't had the chance to get a good look at them when they exclaimed:

"Tim! Is it really you?"

Tim's 'Sorry?' came automatically as he recognized the person before him: Daniel Vosovic - whom he hadn't really seen since his runway show at Bryant Park. They had been in contact… well, Daniel's agent had been in contact and he'd penned the foreword to a book Daniel had written.

The boy was still thin as a rake, dragging luggage and somehow looking like he'd rather belong in a show called _Project Runaway_.

"Daniel, is that you?"

"Yeah. Didn't think I'd run into you here, Tim. Aren't you too busy to be gallivanting around France?"

"I just made the time to come here. I'm planning to go on a road trip to the Loire Valley. What are you doing?"

Daniel blushed and pulled his luggage closer.

"Well, frankly I don't know. I was planning on staying with a friend and well, that didn't work out. Don't think you'd be interested in hearing about it. I just … yeah. Sorry."

Tim didn't say anything; the kid looked flustered, like he didn't really know what he should do next and he remembered that look from the competition. Though he doubted that Daniel was faced with a garment he had to finish in the next three hours.

"Don't be. Are you in a hurry to be somewhere?" Tim asked, nodding his head towards the luggage.

"Oh, no, not really. I just… seriously, you don't want to hear about it. I just need to find somewhere to stay and stop dragging my suitcase allover Paris."

The grand suite that he'd been feeling so lost in popped up in Tim's mind and without further thought, he asked:

"You could stay with me. I'm staying at the Ritz in this ridiculously large suite which has three bedrooms. I'm leaving in the morning but the suite is booked for a couple of nights so you could stay that extra night."

Daniel's eyes grew wide and he looked at Tim in alarm. Fortunately, Tim had seen that look before and was clever enough to decipher it.

"Relax, Daniel, I'm not coming on to you. My assistant miraculously managed to book that suite with a couple of days notice and I didn't even ask her to do that. In all honesty, I should be sleeping off jetlag right now but that suite just felt too big. Having you in one of the rooms might help."

Blinking wide eyes, there was something in Daniel's face that might be construed as consent, so off to the Ritz they trudged. The instructor in Tim surfaced and he couldn't help but point out the various buildings and landmarks on their way. After twenty minutes or so, Daniel had begun to sigh.

"I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything, but my feet are killing me and the sooner we get to the hotel, the better."

"Sorry, old habits die hard, Daniel."

Daniel's eyes had been wide before, they grew as big as saucers when they stepped into the suite.

"Wow, do they pay that much for the Project and Liz Clairborne and all that?"

"I didn't think so, but my assistant knows my budget and she seems to have deemed this suite within it. Feel free to pick a bedroom."

Like in a daze, Daniel wandered around the suite, looking at the rococo decorations and marveling at just how deep he was sinking into the plush carpet. And like that, Tim felt drowsy and his eyes went grainy with tiredness.

"Go ahead and pick a room, I think I'm going to sleep now."

+++

When Tim woke up he felt rather disoriented - mostly due to the fact he was almost lost at sea in the gargantuan bed. Then he remembered he was in Paris and that he was planning to go on his road trip today. Still feeling sleep logged, he fell back into the bed, not feeling like getting up anytime soon.

It was already light outside and Tim had always been an early riser so he fought the fatigue and got up.

He felt like there was something he should be aware of, like a presence he should acknowledge. It didn't come to him on his way to the bathroom; instead he got the reminder as soon as he stepped inside it.

There was someone using the shower.

Just before Tim let out what would have been a pretty undignified scream, he remembered that he had invited someone to stay the day before and that someone was probably the person showering. Making a quiet exit to use the smaller bathroom in the suite, Tim's heart was hammering in his chest. Which was odd. He had felt panicked those few seconds he thought there was an intruder in the bathroom but that was not nearly enough to get his heart rate up. Maybe he was feeling his age.

Daniel whistled a happy tune as they ate the breakfast they had ordered up to the room. He couldn't sit still; wandering around the room, munching on his toast and looking out of the windows.

"This is absolutely crazy, Tim. This suite is just insane. You know… your offer was awesome and you letting me stay here tonight totally saved me but if you are going today, I couldn't possibly stay here alone… I mean… what if I broke something? I'd pay you but the suite is in your name and if you end up being barred from the Ritz because of me… god, I couldn't possibly…"

He trailed off, looking at Tim like a lost puppy and Tim wondered what it was that Daniel wanted from him. And so, for the second time in less than 24 hours, Tim opened up his mouth and said something without giving it much thought.

"You know, you can come with me on my road trip if you want."

It was obviously what Daniel had been waiting for. Surprisingly enough, Tim was almost okay with that.

"I know I'm being all kinds of presumptuous and all… but I really don't know what to do with myself."

"Daniel, you came to Paris with some plans, right?"

"Oh, god. This is so silly. I came here with a friend and I thought we were going to have a nice time in Paris and maybe take the train to Nice or Amsterdam or something. I mean… as friends. And then I found out he hadn't seen this trip as two friends going somewhere together. He thought I was going as his boyfriend. Yeah, that ended in a screaming fight and then I met you."

Tim stroked his chin. On one hand he wasn't too keen on being subjected to a twenty-something's relationship drama on what he was hoping would be a relaxing journey. On the other hand, it was nice to have company, and besides, Daniel had always seemed to have a sensible head on his shoulders and was probably longing for something to take his mind off the situation with his friend.

+++

They were both pretty quiet as they drove out of Paris. Tim's plans were pretty vague: they would start out in Orléans and end the tour in Nantes. Everything in between was an unwritten book.

That's perhaps the reason that what Tim most remembered from the trip was the taste of the wines. He remembered a particularly crisp Romorantin in Cour-Cheverny, a fragrant Chenin Blanc in Anjou that tasted rather like a fruit salad and in a village not far from Nantes, they got drunk for a couple of days on Muscadet, and eating oysters.

"You know, Tim. I kind of never drank wine. I mean, sure, maybe a glass or two with a meal, and champagne and stuff like that. But not like this." Daniel waved his hand in the general direction of the almost empty bottle on the table.

Tim couldn't help feeling a strange kind of pride, akin to the pride he'd sometimes felt towards his students. Briefly, he wondered whether instructors at wine tastings ever felt that kind of pride but then again Daniel had gulped down most the wine in the bottle by himself and that wasn't really the point with a wine tasting, nor the way to really appreciate the salty tang of the Muscadet.

"And some say you shouldn't get drunk off wine," Tim said indulgently.

"Yeah, I don't care about that," Daniel snorted. He made a clumsy grab for Tim's hand and surprising even himself, Tim didn't pull away.

Tim wasn't really the dating sort and definitely not the sort of guy who normally went for younger guys. He hadn't even thought he liked Daniel in that way until now. Maybe it was the wine, but the glint in Daniel's eyes was doing funny things to him.

He'd always believed that someone like Daniel would keep to his own; that is, a young hipster who could actually pull off skinny jeans without looking like a moron.

It was entirely possible that French white wine was to blame but Tim followed up on the glint in Daniel's eyes.

That meant a romp between the sheets in a rickety bed at the cozy inn they were staying at. For some reason, when Tim was stretching underneath Daniel, trying to avoid a painful back cramp, he found himself wistful and thinking about the football field-sized bed back at the Ritz.

Daniel looked down at him, smirking, like he knew what Tim was thinking.

"Yeah, we should have done this sooner - at the Ritz at least. Then we could have said 'At least we'll have Paris'."

"'At least we'll have Pornic' doesn't have the same ring."

"Well, the way you say it, Tim, it has a better ring."

-Finis

**Author's Note:**

> Pornic is a real village in France and judging from the pictures I've seen, it's very pretty.


End file.
